Sleep Now, John Watson
by anonomoose21
Summary: John can't sleep, Sherlock is the cause... and the solution.


_*Also on AO3*_

Thanks for reading guys! This is just something I wrote awhile back that I posted on AO3 and not on here for whatever reason. So here I am posting it. Thanks for reading! Xoxo

* * *

John was slowly pulled from his deep slumber to the sound of a soft melody playing from beyond his door. It confused him at first, being in that almost-awake-almost-asleep state, but it didn't take long for him to fully regain consciousness. Normally John would be annoyed, but he is use to Sherlock playing his violin at all hours of the night, and often enough that John could fall back asleep. But this wasn't a violin, this was something more gentle, more subtle. A piano.

John attempted to go back to sleep. He shut his eyes and tried to let the music lull him back, like the strings of a violin could, but the sound is too foreign. Although it's peaceful and calming, it is distracting from his attempts at sleep.

After much debating, John sighed and ran a hand over his face. He got up from the bed and walked out to the hallway. His bedroom is the closest guest room to the grand living space, the next bedroom—Sherlocks room—is a good ten feet down the corridor. John noticed his bedroom door shut and wondered if Sherlock could hear the soft melody echoing through the walls. Surely he would not be sleeping, he very rarely does. Besides, Sherlock is too uptight about being under the roof of the Holmes Estate again to be comfortable enough.

John was at the corner in three steps and peered into the living space. Johns eyes widened at the man sitting at the piano playing the gentle music. Surely John should know better than to be surprised. But with all the surprises from the Holmes' family, it wouldn't be shocking that some other relative is sitting up playing music in the middle of the night.

But of course it is none-other than Sherlock. Apparently he is the only man to be crazy enough to play in the middle of the night; and an instrument he claimed to not play at all, no less.

John watched in awe and wonder as Sherlocks long fingers combed the keys with elegance and grace. His head is held downward, clearly focused, but his eyes are closed, lost in the music. His curly hair is falling forward in front of him, and he is wearing his white t-shirt and blue flannel pajama bottoms that he was appalled by earlier. Never has Sherlock ever ceased to amaze John. And even now, John cannot help but realize how beautiful he is like this. All sharp angles that should be associated with the cold, but here is a man radiating light by doing the simplest of things.

Entranced, John slowly approached the man, watching the way those white fingers danced over the keys like it is a second nature, like Sherlock is typing on a keyboard. John stopped a few feet away and just watched, that face, those hands. John listened to the music, the notes never faltering, never unsure. It's beautiful.

What seemed like hours, but really had to only be minutes, the song came to a close. Long fingers lingered over the final keys, and then dropped to his lap. His white skin stood out even more pale in the moonlight and the backdrop of his blue pajamas.

Sherlock then slowly opened his eyes and raised them to John, not at all surprised by his presence. In fact, he seemed to be expecting it, anticipating it.

"I thought you couldn't play." John stated quietly, it seemed like a violation to speak above a whisper in such a tranquil room at this time in the night.

"I said I _didn't_ play, not that I couldn't." Sherlock stated in the same tone of voice, but not without his usual hint of annoyance for John not being clever enough to catch on. John ignored it.

"I didn't recognize the piece."

"Nuvole Bianche, Ludovico Einaudi." Sherlock filled in immediately. "The first piece I ever learned."

"I like it."

"Thought you might." Sherlock answered looking up at John with confidence.

"You knew it would wake me then." John said, wanting it to sound like a question but came out confident enough to be stated as a fact.

"Of course. An unfamiliar home, with an unfamiliar sound coming from down the hall. That is bound to wake anyone up with a history of PTSD."

"How did you know I'd come out?"

"Because at Baker Street you never do. But here, you probably just wanted to tell whoever it was to shut it. Given your earlier assumption that I _can't_ play, you didn't think it was me, so you came out."

John smirked playfully. "Who says I'm not going to tell you to shut it?"

"You would have already. And besides, you enjoy it." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

John sighed, he will never win against Sherlock Holmes.

It was silent for a moment, but something suddenly dawned on John."You said you knew it would wake me, why did you want me awake?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead he asked, "Another?"

John thought a moment and then nodded. If Sherlock doesn't want to answer, John knows he won't, and John is far too tired to argue.

Sherlock turned to the keys and began another melody that John is not familiar with. But all the same, it is wonderful.

Once the song ended, Sherlock was the first to speak. "You enjoy watching me." It was a statement, like it usually is with Sherlock. He never has to question, he just knows.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You don't know?" John teased.

Sherlock glared half-heartedly at him. "John."

"I don't know why." John sighed gently.

"Yes you do." Sherlock argued.

Yes, John does, and leave it to Sherlock to see right through him. Even in the dark, when only half their faces are illuminated in the moonlight.

John debated how to respond to Sherlocks deduction. He could just walk away, go back to his bedroom and forget about the entire evening; he could make something up, like his secret ambition to learn the piano. Or he could go for the truth.

Looking at Sherlock now, his face still soft and calm from his performance, John never recalled him looking this way with his violin. Though it has been awhile since he's watched Sherlock play. Now he is wondering why he doesn't do it more often.

Suddenly, Johns mouth was moving without his consent. "You're tranquil when you play. I've never seen you so calm before, not even when you're asleep. It's wonderful." John didn't realize that he was looking down at Sherlock with pure admiration and affection. Sherlock took notice, he takes notice to everything, especially when it comes to John Watson. Sherlock looked away, and John could've sworn he saw a shade of pink ignite his cheeks. John bit his lip to keep from smiling. Sherlock Holmes is blushing.

"You should get some sleep." Sherlock stated, still not meeting Johns eyes. "Long day tomorrow."

"Are you going to sleep?" John wondered and immediately scolded himself for asking such question.

Sherlock looked up at him then and gave him a pointed look stating, _really, John_?

John nodded once. "Right then." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked to his feet, contemplating his next words cautiously. "Would you, um, continue playing, for awhile?"

John peeked up through his eyelashes at Sherlock and noticed a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, or perhaps John is seeing things because in the next instant Sherlock is speaking with a neutral expression.

"Yes."

John nodded and smiled awkwardly, moving from the grand room to the large corridor, "Goodnight Sherlock." He said softly.

"Goodnight John." Sherlock responded, staring after him until he disappeared in the hallway.

John didn't hear the piano pick up again until he was safely inside his room and tucked under the sheets. The melody danced through the walls and it took John a few counts before he recognized the tune. It is the same song Sherlock plays on his violin, the one he plays when John wakes up from his nightmares. It usually helps him fall back asleep—how Sherlock can deduce _that_ from John when he is a whole floor away at Baker Street is a mystery to him.

But it's Sherlock, and that is the only justification he needs nowadays.

John was asleep before the song ended.

* * *

Songs in order:

Nuvole Bianche, Ludovico Einaudi  
The Approaching Night, Philip Wesley  
River Flows in You, Yiruma (violin version by Lindsey Stirling)


End file.
